


Flower From the Ashes

by rixsig-writes (rixsig), StarlightHawke



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Healing, M/M, Prior to Another Story, Slow Burn, healing trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23905591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rixsig/pseuds/rixsig-writes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightHawke/pseuds/StarlightHawke
Summary: Recovery isn't easy when trapped inside the bunker most of the time. But when Zen reaches out to offer his friendship, Saeran has no idea what's coming his way.
Relationships: Choi Saeran & Zen | Ryu Hyun, Choi Saeran/Zen | Ryu Hyun
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic that will be adapted from a RP Rix and I did several years ago. We'll both be contributing chapters. The RP was started prior to the release of Another Story, so Saeran is characterized according to how he was interpreted without any information that came from his or V's routes.

**Jaehee Kang:** How have your classes been going?

 **707:** lololol

 **Yoosung★** : T_T

 **Yoosung★** : Don’t laugh at meeee;;;

 **Jaehee Kang** : I suppose that answers my question.

 **Yoosung★:** No!!

 **Yoosung★:** I’ve been… doing some homework

**Yoosung★:**

**ZEN:** Just some?

 **Yoosung★:** T_T 

**ZEN:** Dude, Yoosung, come on.

 **ZEN:** You just need to train yourself to be an expert at focusing

 **ZEN:** Like me✨

Give him a break. **:Saeran**

He said he’s doing some. That’s better than none. **:Saeran**

**Zen:**

**707:**

**707:** You care about wittle Yoosungie?? So sweeeet~

Shut up. **:Saeran**

 **707** : I think

 **707:** Now is a good time to deploy

 **707:** The new ✨707 FunTime Bot✨!

 **707:** To break up a little tension~

 **707:** Just let me type in a little code, and...

 **707v2:** Activating Magical Girl Generator for **Yoosung★**.

 **Yoosung★:** Wait, what!?

 **707v2:** **Yoosung★** as a Magical Girl has pink, straight hair, heterochromatic eyes, and an outfit that’s pink.

 **707v2:** Their character type is: yandere.

 **707v2:** They love honey buddha chips.

 **707v2:** They transform using their friends’ love.

 **707:** lolololol

 **ZEN:** What the…

 **707:** Jealous, Zen?

 **707:** Should we do you next?  
 **707:**

**707v2:** Activating Magical Girl Generator for **ZEN**.

 **707v2:** **ZEN** as a Magical Girl has white, braided hair, bright purple eyes and an outfit that’s light purple.

 **707v2:** Their character type is: dandere.

 **707v2:** They love cats.

 **707v2:** They transform using perfume.

 **ZEN:** CATS!?

 **ZEN:** ****

**ZEN:** Other than that, I think I’d look rather striking lol

 **Jaehee Kang:** That would be a good look for you.

 **707v2:** Activating Magical Girl Generator for **Saeran**.

… **:Saeran**

 **707v2:** **Saeran** has orange hair in ringlets, wide brown eyes, and a purple outfit that’s witch themed.

 **707v2:** Their character type is: tsundere.

 **707v2:** They love cats.

 **707v2:** They transform using a potion.

Is that supposed to be funny? **:Saeran**

 **707:** Aww but you’d look so b~e~a~u~t~i~f~u~l~!

 **707:** Should we try something else?

 **Yoosung★** : What would you look like, Seven?

 **707:** lolol

 **707:** Guess you’ll never know~

 **707v2:** Activating Dating Simulator for **MC**.

 **707v2:** **MC** is dating **707**.

 **Jaehee Kang:** How intelligent.

 **Jaehee Kang:** Should we be impressed?

 **707v2:** Activating Dating Simulator for **Jaehee Kang**.

 **707v2:** **Jaehee Kang** is dating ZEN’s musicals.

 **Jaehee:**

**ZEN:** Who am I dating?✨

 **707v2:** Activating Dating Simulator for **ZEN**.

 **707v2:** **ZEN** is dating their work.

 **ZEN:** What!?

 **707:** lolol

 **707:** The simulator never lies~!

 **ZEN:** Then try it again!

 **707v2:** Activating Dating Simulator for **ZEN**.

 **707v2:** **ZEN** is dating **Saeran**.

… : **Saeran**

 **ZEN:** ****

**ZEN:** Ew, Saeran’s a guy

 **ZEN:** I’m not gay!

_[ **Saeran** has left the chat room.] _

With a sigh, Saeran closes the app and flops back onto his bed. What an utter waste of his time. “Join the chatrooms. They’re lots of fun and you can make friends!” Saeran mocks, rolling his eyes as he remembers his brother’s advice earlier this week. Sure, he may not be under the thumb of Mint Eye or the Savior anymore, but that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly ready to be all buddy-buddy with the people he spent so long working against. 

Honestly, he’s not ready to be in the same house as his brother, but apparently he doesn’t get a say in that.

Loneliness has driven him to log in a few times since then. Boredom or frustration usually drives him to log off. They never have anything interesting to say, just gossiping or arguing with each other. Saeyoung is as obnoxious as always, going out of his way to try to include Saeran in chats he’d really rather just lurk behind. 

The brain doesn’t like to change. It likes to stay comfortable, repeating the same patterns over and over, regardless of how good or bad they are. In Saeran’s case, he prefers staying in the shadows, reading what the others are saying instead of participating. When his brother isn’t on he can sometimes pretend he’s back at Magenta, in his pitch black room wading through code and monitoring the chat. That’s not to say he wants to return to that, oh no, rather the opposite. 

It’s just easier than trying to move forward in a world he doesn’t belong in.

A buzzing in his hand catches his attention, and he lifts his phone to see who thinks they need to speak to him. 

**ZEN [14:02]:** Hey, Saeran

 **ZEN [14:02]:** I didn’t upset you, did I? 

What in the devil is the actor talking about? 

I’m fine. : **Saeran [14:02]**

 **ZEN [14:04]:** Thank God. I was worried when you logged off so suddenly

Ah. Now it makes sense. This pretty boy thinks he’s upset because of how he reacted to some shitty code saying they were dating.

I’m fine. Just got bored. **:Saeran [14:05]**

 **ZEN [14:06]:** Bored? Are you saying my charm isn’t enough to entertain you? ✨

 **ZEN [14:08]:** Joking, lol

 **ZEN [14:08]:** If you’re bored, why don’t you go outside? Go for a run? That always helps me feel better.

I’m not allowed to go outside alone. : **Saeran [14:09]**

 **ZEN [14:10]:** Then you should go outside with someone else, right? 

Like who? My brother is too busy to bother with me. **:Saeran [14:10]**

 **ZEN [14:12]:** That doesn’t sound like him;;;

 **ZEN [14:12]:** I could take you out! 

**ZEN [14:13]:** To go for a walk or something, not on a date lol I’m not gay

So you’ve said. **:Saeran [14:14]**

 **ZEN [14:14]:** I mean, it doesn’t have to be me but I wouldn’t mind~

Why would you even offer that? You don’t know me. You don’t know if I’m still dangerous. **:Saeran [14:15]**

 **ZEN [14:16]:** I don’t know you _yet._ Isn’t that why people hang out? I’ve been meaning to come over and say hello for a while anyway.

Is it? I wouldn’t know. **:Saeran [14:16]**

 **ZEN [14:17]:** Well, it’s _one_ of the reasons people hang out lolol

 **ZEN [14:17]:** But yeah, if you get cabin fever and wanna get out of there let me know ✨

Thanks for the offer, I guess. **:Saeran [14:19]**

 **ZEN [14:19]:** No problem. 

What an odd conversation. How did a poor joke about dating turn into an offer to actually hang out? Does Saeran even _want_ to hang out with Zen? God knows he’s all narcissism and pretty looks, nothing else in that head of his. Besides, he could never trust an actor to show his true feelings. 

No. No, he’ll pass on this and continue seething in his room, thanks.

* * *

_Dark shadows surround them as they weave through the apple orchard, threatening whispers everywhere they turn. Fear courses through Saeran’s arteries, thickening to the point he’s afraid he’ll suffocate with the next heartbeat. Escape, run, put as much distance between themselves and their hunter - that’s the only way to survive this._

_The further they run, the sicker the trees around them become. Trunks darken and wither, the apples turning black with flies buzzing loudly around them. A root lurches up from the ground to trip him and he falls, hard, barely containing the cry of pain when his ankle twists._

_A gunshot startles him, closer than he’d like, and soon he’s up again and running, running, just trying to get away from the evil presence wanting to swallow him up. The limp slows him but he can’t do a thing about it, the blurry outline of Saeyoung in front of him growing further in the distance. He calls out, begs him to wait, but soon he’s completely out of sight._

_The orchard continues forever and soon he’s lost, skidding to a stop as the clouds blot out the light from the moon. Every path looks the same: dark, frightening, not safe. What does he do now? Saeyoung has left him again and he’s nowhere to go. It stings, just like the tears gathering in his eyes._

_He always was the weaker one, the one who cried all the time._

_Suddenly cool metal presses to his forehead and he glances up, making eye contact with the one man who hates him more than he hates himself: the prime minister. “Why?” he asks in a whimper, sniffling even as the gun is cocked._

_“Because you’re all alone,” is the sneered answer. “And no one will miss you when you’re gone.” Pain shoots through his skull, setting every nerve on fire, and the world goes black._

Saeran’s body bolts upright in bed when he wakes, his throat raw and on fire. Shit; he must have been screaming in his sleep. Tears sting in his eyes and his head throbs, prickles of agony dancing along his temples. Dampened sheets and nightclothes do nothing to protect against the chill of the night, everything trembling as he tries to reorient himself to reality. _It’s okay, Saeran. It was just a dream. Everything is fine…_

 _BAM!_ The door to his room slams open with all the finesse of an elephant on roller skates, his heart rate climbing as the anxiety he awoke with spikes even higher.

“Saeran! Are you okay?” Saeyoung rushes in, callously flipping on the light and offering a glass of water. 

Hissing as his room shifts from darkness, Saeran leans away, covering his eyes to try to lessen the pain now lancing through his entire skull. Does his idiotic brother have _any_ ability to consider that perhaps running into his room like this isn’t the best way to handle his nightmares? Fucking hell. He waves a hand in the general direction of his voice, refusing to answer vocally. The bitterness of fresh betrayal sits on his heart, a flickering image of Saeyoung haunting him. Sure, this time it was a dream, but this man betrays him again and again in both the waking world and the sleeping one. Saeran’s labored breathing fills the room, interrupted by the clink of glass against wood before Saeyoung tries once more. 

“Please, talk to me.”

Silence.

“Saeran…”

He buries his face in his hands; _please go away._

“...Well. You know where I am if you change your mind.”

_Step. Step. Click._

Plunged once more into the blessed darkness, Saeran dares to peek out between his fingers. Good. He’s alone. Pulling his covers up to his chest, he reaches over to the glass of water, hoping it will wet his parched mouth. Most of his nightmares revolve around his time spent at Mint Eye with the occasional one from before Saeyoung left, but this one was… quite different. The murderous look in his father’s eyes and the unsettling words haunt him. 

Yeah. He supposes he is all alone. Saeyoung likes to play at caring for him and wants him to believe he loves him, but Saeran isn’t so gullible as to believe that. Not yet, anyway.

It’s selfish of him, but he wants someone to miss him if he kicks the bucket. 

**To: ZEN**

Okay. I’ll hang out with you. Once. **:Saeran [00:18]**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zen picks up Saeran to give him some time outside of the bunker and away from an overbearing brother. Things, as usual, don't go quite according to plan.

A moment of weakness.

That’s what brought this day upon him. One, singular moment of weakness where he felt like he needed someone to care about his existence, someone to miss him should something blissfully end his suffering.

Just as he always has, Saeran despises anything his own weakness brings upon him. For starters, apparently agreeing to hang out with someone outside of his brother is a capital offense punishable by additional clinginess, a sullen attitude, and barbed jokes-that-aren’t-really-jokes. Don’t get him wrong, it’s not a surprise that Saeyoung would take something like this poorly after being spurned repeatedly for something as simple as watching a movie together - but he didn’t expect it to be such a big deal that he had to watch _Zen_ pay the price on the chatroom, too. 

Because, y’know. How dare someone _else_ take interest in him outside of the man who abandoned him in the first place.

Who the fuck knows what the actor is getting himself into when he actually shows up. Saeyoung feels less like a concerned twin than an overprotective, overbearing father puffing up his chest to try to intimidate the man taking his daughter out on a date. Manage to get past that and then it’s straight on to the damaged one, the one who can swing from a homicidal maniac to an even more useless Eeyore in the span of ten seconds. 

Whatever.

Past that, Saeran has learned to avoid situations he can’t read over the years. A multitude of unpleasant and rather painful surprises taught him the hard way, and yet. Here he is, a cursed fool, walking into a scenario that he’s never been in before with someone he doesn’t know who will likely take him somewhere he’s never been to. That’s an awful lot of uncertainty for a single session. This entire thing is going to turn out terribly, he just knows it. 

Jesus fucking christ, will he ever learn to stop being such an airhead?

Probably not.

Slipping the last of his supplies into the black bag adorned with a bird symbol Saeyoung had given him[1], he raises an eyebrow when he hears the chime of his phone alerting him to a new text. Only two people have his actual phone number - and of course, one of them is having problems gaining entrance into the bunker. 

He has no idea what Zen expects him to do; his brother is a difficult ass about allowing people to get past his security door on a good day... which today is not. Sure, Zen may often be the optimist of the RFA, but even he had to know that daring to take the villain out of his cage would be met with resistance. 

Not that it matters. The problem takes care of itself before he tugs the bags strings tight, another text coming through quickly after the first. Voices fill the bunker, one low and melodic, the other higher with a cheeriness much too strained to be real. With an exasperated sigh, Saeran slings the bag over one shoulder and pulls open his door, slipping into the main room of the half-underground prison quietly. Neither notice his arrival at first, too absorbed in their conversation. Saeyoung’s hands are flying all over the place, a tell[2] Saeran learned to read long ago and one he’s not altogether surprised to see. Meanwhile Zen stands opposite looking his usual handsome self, one hand slid in the pocket of his white jacket while the other taps his chin thoughtfully. He says something that sends Saeyoung’s hands moving at the speed of light as he shakes his head, words Saeran can’t understand causing a flicker of frustration to appear on Zen’s face.

Enough. Approaching with the silent footsteps of someone used to being in the shadows, Saeran waits until he’s closer to sullenly ask, “So? Will the warden grant me a day out?”

Both men startle and turn to face him with drastically different postures: Saeyoung tries to appear relaxed but the stiff hold of his shoulders gives him away, whereas Zen’s truly relaxed and amused, if the smirk is any sign. 

Must not be many people sassing the ‘good’ twin in the RFA if such a tame remark garners any mirth. 

“Yeah, of course! What kind of monster would I be if I didn’t allow my better half to enjoy such a nice day with my buddy, hmm~?” The corners of Saeyoung’s lips are tight even with the smile, his eyes dashing between the two of them. 

_Stop trying to psychoanalyze me,_ Saeran wants to say, but instead keeps his mouth firmly shut. None of the responses flitting through his mind are worth the can of worms they’d open.

“I’m only a call away if you need anything!” 

Zen nods at Saeyoung, waving him off in what seems to be a rather dismissive manner. “I’m not worried. We’ll be fine. Ready to get out of here?” 

The smile he shoots at Saeran is undoubtedly the one that causes women’s - and some men’s - knees to go weak, but he’s unaffected by it. No, Zen’s ‘charm’ won’t work on him. With a curt nod, he follows him out of the bunker, holding his breath until they’re actually walking into the warm afternoon air. 

God, fresh air hasn’t smelled this good in _ages._ Probably not since the last time he was held prisoner. 

Why does that seem to be a permanent part of his life?

“Do you have anything in particular you want to do, or should I try to surprise you?”

“Um.” The question catches him off guard and he finds himself in a familiar position, left hand squeezing his right bicep far too tightly to be comfortable. Forcing his grip to loosen, he glances at Zen briefly before raising his eyes to the sky. How beautiful the clouds are, floating lazily through a sky so clear and inviting. “As long as I can see the sky, I don’t really care.” 

“Well, there’s always the park but…” Zen’s voice trails off for a moment, most likely considering other options. A large, fluffy cloud passes over them and Saeran traces its outline with his eyes while he waits, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders dissipate. “I know there’s an observation deck around here if you want a better view. Or we could always find a roof somewhere.”

Hmm. By no means is Saeran an expert on civilization outside of Magenta’s walls, but a park sounds noisy and uncomfortable. Wherever they go, he wants a chance at silence and undisturbed focus. “Wherever it’s quiet,” he settles on, catching himself about to grasp his arm again. No, no, this is already awkward enough without him making it worse with his weak posture. 

“Rooftop it is.” Footsteps cue Saeran in that they’re walking again. Slipping into his position behind Zen, he lets him lead the way. 

Positioned on the edge of town, the bunker isn’t close to anything worthy of note. Saeran knew this prior to becoming an unwilling occupant, but it’s even more evident when taking a walk like this. Each corner has Zen pausing, finger tapping against his chin before choosing which way to go as though consulting a map in his mind. The further they walk, the more houses begin to decorate the sidewalk and cars whip past. 

Unfortunately, that also means his view of the sky becomes increasingly hindered. As they get closer to an area boasting more businesses, the muscles in his face begin to involuntarily tighten into what’s most likely a scowl. This man better have a good idea in mind, because if they end up somewhere he can’t cloudwatch this trip will have been one huge waste of time, in his book.

“So you like the sky, huh? Any particular reason why?” 

Saeran barely manages to stifle his groan when Zen attempts conversation. He’d been rather content with the silence between them, preferring that to the constant jabber he endures when around his brother. Alas, all good things must come to an end, he supposes. It doesn’t help that the first topic Zen chooses to venture into is a prickly one, delving into a past better left forgotten and one that has a tendency to trigger episodes he’d rather not experience at the moment. Not only would he prefer _not_ to go off and harm the one person helping him get out of that hell, but if he has a regression it’ll only prove Saeyoung right and he can’t have that. 

Oof. This is not an easy situation. Perhaps he should just… not answer? 

No. History has shown that will only make things worse. Taking the hem of his oversized sweater between his fingers, he sighs, mentally preparing himself before speaking. “Well. How much do you know about my childhood?”

“Not much. The general stuff. Sons of an important guy I shouldn't mention out here who doesn't want you guys to exist. Mom tried to use you both as leverage, mistreated you. Seven went into his hacker/spy thing. You got roped into Mint Eye.”

Color him surprised - Zen knows more than he expected. Just how much did his idiotic brother deem necessary to spill to the rabble? Honestly, one wrong person finds out and they’re both goners. 

Saeran might have a deathwish, but he’d prefer it be some way other than being captured and undoubtedly tortured by his father’s minions.

At least this means he doesn’t have to walk the line of what’s okay to say and what isn’t. Still, they’re breaching subjects he hasn’t touched in a long time, and he can feel the spindly legs of anxiety beginning to creep around his mind. “We, ah, weren’t able to go out much as children. Or, well. I wasn’t ever allowed outside. It became special, a symbol of freedom that I would pretend I had.” There’s so much more to it, but fuck if he’s going to go into that. Zen doesn’t need to know, and Saeran doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Special…” Zen echoes, thankfully letting the conversation die after that. They walk in silence for another few minutes before he speaks up again. “Hey, how do you feel about ladders?”

What an odd question. “Ladders are fine,” he responds slowly, raising his gaze to the specific one in question. Wouldn’t the more appropriate query be: _are you comfortable with doing something potentially illegal that could get us both in trouble and set you back in your recovery?_ Because the answer to _that_ is a bit more...complicated. The illegality of it doesn’t bother him, per se - he’s done many worse things in his time - but the potential of it to land him in some hot water makes him alarmingly uncomfortable. 

Since when did a little danger scare him?

Taking a few deep breaths, Saeran mentally shakes himself. No, no, he’s not about to back down now. 

Zen dithers for a long moment, looking at him in concern before turning to face the building they’re next to. Beckoning for him to follow, he leads the way into the alley, stopping before a rusty ladder swung just up out of reach. Before Saeran has a chance to comprehend what’s going on Zen is taking a running leap at the wall, somehow vaulting himself up high enough to latch onto the bottom rung. It slides down with a creak betraying how rarely it’s used, quiet enough to not attract attention.

Despite himself, Saeran’s actually impressed at the ease and grace the actor displayed while breaking the law. There was a time when he would’ve been able to do something similar - it’s amazing what overconfidence, a desperate desire to please, and a cocktail of drugs can make someone capable of - but it wouldn’t have been so smooth. Oh, he’s aware of the troubled past of Zen, but he’s beginning to wonder if he’s only scratched the surface of those years. 

Turning to face Saeran with a charming grin, Zen gestures grandly at their path. “After you.” Their eyes meet, warm red and cool green, but Saeran drops the contact as suddenly as he makes it. No, that type of connection is too personal for him. 

The metal is cool beneath his palm as he grasps the ladder, paint digging into his skin before chipping off the rest of the way to flutter to the ground below. It obviously isn’t used much but it’s still sturdy enough for Saeran to feel confident, the little moans of complaint from the metal not nearly enough to temper his enthusiasm. No doubt the view up top is going to be killer - probably one of the best he’s seen. 

When he finally crests the wall, his breath catches. Yeah. Definitely worth it. Stepping onto the concrete, he meanders to the center of the roof, eyes scanning the horizon. It’s a fantastic view, mostly unhindered by other buildings. The sun sits in the west, casting its comforting rays of light across the entire area with only the occasional cloud daring to interrupt it. He breathes in the air: warm, fresh, so much better than the stale and slightly sweet stuff of the bunker. 

Perfect.

All thoughts of his company drift to the wayside as he sits, wasting no time extracting his sketchbook and colored pencils. A part of him wonders if most people find the prospect of drawing the sky as dumb, boring, useless; why not just take a picture? And that’s fair, really, he knows it is, because a picture captures the moment _exactly_ as it is and preserves it for as long as the photo exists. 

But the thing about pictures is… they don’t always manage to capture the _emotion_ present. Whether it's from the image, the people, or the wildlife doesn’t matter. A picture is just a glossy piece of paper if there’s no feeling attached to it. Saeran’s no expert on emotions - doesn’t claim to be - but he knows damn well that he can portray how he perceives it with his hand.

Plus, creating it makes it feel more real to him. He’s spent too long as a lab rat to others who toy with his mind, taking things he once knew as facts and twisting them, contorting them to become faded, ripped, stained. Too many of his memories are broken and contradictory, and no amount of photographs will fix that. 

But if he draws it himself, then he knows it was real to him in that moment. And right now, in _this_ moment, he wants to remember the freedom he feels.

The freedom to breathe without someone jumping down his throat or raising a hand to him. The freedom to exist as he is, nothing reminding him of who he was or what he should be. The freedom to simply… be.

So he sets to work, laying down swatches of colored pencil in a pattern only he knows. As usual whenever he delves into drawing like this, he loses all concept of time and the space around him, focused only on replicating the peace he feels in his heart on the paper.

Which is probably why when Zen speaks, Saeran’s hard-pressed not to turn around and throw shit at him. Old habits die hard, after all.

“I didn’t know you were an artist.”

Pausing the movement of his hand, Saeran forces himself to take in a few deep breaths to calm the erratic beating of his heart. Old him, Mint Eye him, always reacted very poorly to being interrupted when concentrating. Fingers twitch with a desire to strike but no, no, he’s not that man anymore. Zen didn’t mean to scare the shit out of him, and probably didn’t even realize how into his work he was. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t answer until he resumes coloring.

“Not many do.” Ah, this cloud doesn’t look quite right. Switching pencils, he nudges and coaxes the color to change it slightly. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” _That’s an understatement._ Honestly, the amount of information even his own brother doesn’t know about him could fill the abandoned Magenta building ten times over. His therapist claims it would be good for him to open up and share it in small bits, would allow him to build trust and not carry so much by himself. But eh, Saeran’s not entirely certain he ever _wants_ to trust someone again.

“Why’d you pick it up?” Out of the corner of his eye, Saeran sees Zen let his head tip back to look up at the sky. “I never got into art myself but years ago I’d help paint sets sometimes. I wasn’t that great at it though.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Guess I was never meant to stay behind the curtain.”

A memory flashes unbidden through Saeran’s mind’s eye, leaving him reeling in shock. A small hand clutching a stolen crayon scribbling on a piece of paper. Two children holding hands, sitting in grass and eating ice cream. A shriek of disgust and the ripping of it into shreds, crayon yanked out of shaking fingers and ground into the floor by an unsteady heel. He barely feels his own fingers go lax, pencil dropping to the sketchbook and rolling onto the ground as fear and hatred slam into him, as fresh as if it were only yesterday.

“Sh-shit,” is all he manages to get out before trembles roll through his entire body. Dragging his eyes to his hands he sees them shaking violently, feels the phantom pain coursing through him and no, no, no, he can’t do this, not here, not in public, not with Zen. If Saeyoung finds out… fuck. This is _exactly_ what he’d been afraid of, and he’d been right: Saeran shouldn’t have come out today. 

Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, his chest is rising and falling at an accelerated rate but it feels like he’s suffocating and oh god, why are more memories pouring in? Five words and it opened a Pandora’s Box, one he desperately needs to get out of before he drowns in this sea of the past he can’t escape. He wraps his arms around his legs and buries his head, trying to block out the images with little success. No, he needs to ground, needs to focus on something _other_ than himself but he can’t, there’s nothing to focus _on_ because when it happens at home he either rides it out or Saeyoung just sits next to him and chatters about meaningless things until he can surface once more.

Wait.

“Zen…” The name is choked and feels like it drags on for eternity with how slowly the muscles of his mouth respond. “Talk. About anything. Please.”

Thankfully the actor lives to talk about himself and that’s exactly what he does - or at least, Saeran assumes he does. It’s not like he’s actually listening to the content of what is being said. No, rather, he’s latching onto the voice itself, trying to match his inner world to the highs and lows of Zen’s melodic speech. Deep and smooth, lilting yet powerful, it’s a surprisingly soothing voice to listen to, and it’s remarkably easy for him to latch onto it after all of the practice he’s had with his twin’s grating one. Saeran lets himself zone in on it, just listening, trying to match his own rough and ragged breaths to Zen’s more even ones. God, he hates this. Hates being weak in front of others, hates needing to depend on someone else to help regain his faltering attachment to reality. 

But regardless of how he feels, he has to admit that it’s working.

An eternity passes as he fights against himself to regain control, daring to place a finger on the concrete and let its coolness ground him further. Yes, he’s here, on this roof in Seoul, with Zen next to him and not that wretched excuse of a mother. Gradually his breathing slows and the images fade, the world no longer jolting around him. It’s alright. It’s okay. 

It wasn’t real this time.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed, when he finally feels like he’s fully anchored in his own body again.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got plenty of behind-the-scenes stories if you ever need them.”

No, that’s not right. Why does Zen sound… normal? Sure, a little relieved but there’s no judgment there, no annoyance. Saeran waits for the other shoe to drop, becoming increasingly confused the longer they sit without Zen pressing him for details about what happened - or why. It’s customary at home that if Saeran has to ask for help, Saeyoung will grill him after the fact to figure out what specifically triggered him this time around[3]. The practice is annoying, to say the least. That’s not to mention the fact that sometimes it takes nothing more than a glance in the mirror at just the right angle to set him off; he’s just too fucked up right now. 

And yet… Daring to glance at Zen out of the corner of his eye, he furrows his brows at seeing how unaffected the man appears. This whole time he’s been treating Saeran differently from anyone else, less like the rabid animal others view him as and more like a… an actual person. A man separate from his past.

Saeran likes that.

Wait, no, he’s not allowed to like that. He’s nothing if not an awful person, a wretched mistake and it doesn’t matter, this doesn’t matter and Zen doesn’t matter. He’s a fool if he lets himself believe for one fraction of a second that Zen wouldn’t simply abandon him like the rest of them have the moment it became convenient. 

“Maybe this was a mistake.”

Zen sits straight suddenly, turning to look at Saeran with his mouth slightly open. “A mistake?” A beat of silence passes. “Ah… not having a good time, huh?” Shame passes over his face as he rubs his chin. “Sorry, I was hoping you could have a little fun, get some air, but I guess I didn’t plan very well…” 

What is this feeling? It's bitter and painful in a throbbing sort of way. It feels like bile climbing up his throat, like a sharp grain of sand lodged in his blood scraping at his heart whenever it passes through. This sensation... he can discern that it’s directed at Zen, but he doesn't know why or what or how to get rid of it. God damn emotions. Vexed, he picks up his sketchbook from where it had fallen and flips to a new page, pulling out darker-tinted pencils and setting to work trying to purge himself of the unwanted assailant. 

"It's not you," Saeran says sharply, bending over and scribbling furiously. The picture may not be pretty, but it’s taking shape very quickly under the aggressive assault of his hands. A mess of dark greys in the sky, green trees bent in agony as they try to escape the angry eye of the storm raging inside his own heart. "It's me. It's all me. It's always me. I'm too fucked to do anything right." His voice rises in volume at the end and he finds himself throwing the book, clamping both hands over his mouth to muffle the scream of frustration he lets out. Control, he’s losing control again but it’s no matter. He’s already fucked shit up too much now. As usual.

He screams, inhales, and screams again, eyes squeezing shut against the tears welling up. Perhaps he should be more concerned about who can hear him, muffled or not, but he just can’t find it in him to give one singular shit. Let them find him and carry him away. Maybe he can rot in prison like he should, without the additional guilt that comes from seeing the pain in his brother’s eyes.

“Then maybe… let yourself do some things wrong.” It’s a quiet offering, but still strong and unafraid. The fact that even now Zen isn’t approaching him like a wild animal is absolutely baffling. “You’re not fucked up, you’re injured. And no one’s strong enough to heal overnight, right?”

Saeran barks out a bitter laugh. “That’s easy for you to say.” For the first time since Zen arrived at the bunker, Saeran willingly makes eye contact with him, sneering. “You don’t know what it’s like in here.” He taps a finger against his temple, upper lip curling more. “You don’t know anything, anything at all. What it’s like to be born wrong, unwanted, a mistake that can’t be erased. To be nothing but a bug meant to be crushed under someone’s boot.” All of the fight whooshes out of him suddenly, pure exhaustion settling in its place instead. Slumping, he shakes his head, eyes closing once more. “I’m not injured. I’m broken. This will never go away. Recovery is only a pipe dream.” 

Something between pity and sadness crosses Zen’s face, and if he had the energy, Saeran would be fucking pissed about it. “You’re right, I don’t. I don’t know everything you’ve been through or everything in your head, but… I know it’s not a bad thing to have a dream. I bet you can get closer to it than you think.”

Ugh. This is all so fucking weird. It doesn’t make sense. Even when he tries to study Zen’s face, he can’t get a grasp on what he means. Overwhelmed, he’s so overwhelmed and this is too much and fuck it all, Saeyoung was right about him not being ready for this yet. Or maybe not, he could be wrong and the only way he’ll learn to deal with it is by immersion but fuck. Saeran doesn’t know what is right or wrong. He doesn’t know how he should feel or even understand the mess of emotions he’s feeling at this moment.

However, there is _one_ thought still floating around in the forefront of his mind, a burning question he must ask because he just really doesn’t get it.

“Why are you still here?” Most people would have run by now, given the back-to-back occurance of that overdone anxiety attack and then his fit. “I’m volatile. I’m difficult. Why the fuck haven’t you just left me?”

Ah, at least he can still tell when someone is confused. “Leave you…?” Zen’s brows furrow. “Are you serious? Why would I do that?” Shaking his head, Zen peers closely at Saeran, making his skin prickle. “This whole thing has been… weird, yeah, but I wouldn’t say it’s been difficult.” He stands and collects the scattered pencils and sketchbook, handing them back to Saeran. “I’m not gonna just vanish on you.”

A long-suffering sigh leaves Saeran as he accepts his supplies back. “Everyone else has. What makes you different?”

“Hmm… I’m a devastatingly handsome and talented theatre actor?” 

Is Zen… teasing him? Right now? Yeah, he definitely is, exaggerated preening and all. What the fuck.

Dropping the act, Zen resumes his place sitting next to Saeran. “I don’t know if there’s anything I can say that will make you believe me, but I’m a man of my word, I promise.” He flashes a smile at Saeran, then opts to lay on his back, hands resting behind his head. “Say you want to get out of that place and I’ll make time for you.”

Saeran fidgets, uncertain how to process Zen’s claim. Sure, he sounds sincere but as he just said, he _is_ an actor. That means he can fake sincerity pretty good, right? Yet something in his gut whispers that isn’t what is going on, that Zen means what he’s saying. Does he believe it? It’s hard to tell. But as far as that offer goes…

“...careful what you offer. I always want to get out of there… and away from my idiot brother.”

The laugh he gets in response is full of surprise. “I guess we’ll get to know each other pretty well then, huh?” Turning his head, Zen levels an amiable look at Saeran. “I know he cares a lot about you, but I can’t imagine living with that guy is easy. Especially when you’re stuck like that.”

“He’s fucking annoying,” Saeran responds with a snort. He glances down at his sketchpad, at the mess of colors he’d left in frustration. Mmm. No, he doesn’t want to finish this picture… or the other one, for that matter. Something different…? 

Maybe he should not only try to capture the sky, but them, as well. After all, most of the emotion right now is coming from his festering wounds.

Hah.

“Well. Whenever you’re willing to get me out of there… I won’t say no.” Dumping the rest of his pencils onto the ground, he searches for one to sketch with. If this one is going to be more involved, then he’d better lay the groundwork first. No use fucking up and getting mad at himself later.

“Really?” Zen’s voice comes out sounding almost like a pleased purr, an irony not lost on Saeran. “Then I’ve got some good free time four days from now, how’s that sound?”

That’s an excellent question. How _does_ that sound? Mulling the prospect over in his head, Saeran works painstakingly at copying their surroundings. The idea of another trip outdoors is tempting, of course, as it’s a treat that comes few and far in between. But does he really want another awkward hangout session thing with Zen? Hmm. Honestly, he seems more bothered by the events of the day than Zen is, so maybe he’s making mountains out of molehills again. Shit, how would he even know if he is? It’s so ingrained in him by now that he doubts he could identify it even if he tried.

The silence between them stretches out as Saeran thinks, the fresh air sweet in his lungs and sun warm on his head. Still, Zen doesn’t push him for an answer. The miracle of that in itself is what solidifies his decision. “I would like that,” he finally offers, cautiously, the concept behind the words foreign on his tongue. Will he regret this? There’s no way to know until it happens, and Zen is the only chance[4] he has at being outside again.

“Good. Hmm, maybe next time we’ll try a park…” 

A breeze blows through, ruffling Saeran’s hair and reminding him just how much it needs to be cut. Grumbling, he tries to tuck it behind his ear so he can continue working, becoming more frustrated when it simply slips back in the way. “Stupid hair.” It’s too long and with the length comes the growing out of his roots, the bright red a shock against the white he’d cultivated so carefully. 

“I’ve got these if you want to use them while you’re drawing,” Zen murmurs, holding out three hairclips in the palm of his hand. Plain black and simple, they’re nothing at all remarkable. Then again, considering how much stock Zen puts into his natural looks, it would make sense he wouldn’t want to use anything that could potentially draw attention away. 

But should he use them? There’s the hygienic side of sharing, but beyond that… Does it signify anything, such as friendship? Is there a hidden meaning he’s unaware of? Saeran taps a finger against his leg in consideration before reaching out to accept them, fiddling with his thick, wild hair in hopes of managing to wrangle it into something less annoying. Pins aren’t something he’s familiar with and his face grows warm as he struggles to figure them out, but after a few failed attempts he can finally see again. Thank god a mirror isn’t around; he’s sure he looks absolutely ridiculous like this. 

Well. It gets the job done and that’s what matters. Zen begins to hum softly as Saeran returns to drawing, lulling him into something like a trance as he works to complete his picture.

* * *

The sun has moved halfway across the sky by the time Saeran puts down the last pencil, arms raising above his head as he stretches. All-in-all, it’s not a bad rendition; he’d chosen to not only draw the sky, but to include himself and Zen resting on the rooftop, as well. People aren’t usually his forte so it was a challenge, one that he found he’d rather enjoyed. _Of course I could have done so much better_ , he thinks as he lets his arms fall, critical eye beginning to work in overtime, _if I had maybe switched up this brown and positioned myself a little more to the lef-_

“Done? Mind if I see?” 

Again Saeran finds himself startled by Zen, hands gripping the sides of his book intently so no fists go anywhere they shouldn’t be headed. Teeth clenched, he hugs it to his chest, a sudden spike of nerves sending panic flowing throughout him. Usually he keeps his art to himself, neither wanting to share it with his brother nor dare attempt to post it online (also through his brother) for fear of how transparent it makes him feel. Maybe it’s a bad practice to place all of his emotions on one piece of paper, but it’s the one thing his therapist has actually encouraged him to continue doing. 

But the panic ebbs quickly, leaving him with a dull feeling of swooping in his stomach. It’s… strange, to say the least, but not an unpleasant sensation. Does that mean it’s time for him to try…? 

Peeling the book from his chest, he hands it to Zen, refusing to make eye contact. “It’s… it’s not that good.” The weight disappears from his grasp and he huddles back into himself, heart thumping loudly in his ears.

“What are you talking about? It’s beautiful!” 

Surely those words are the result of the devil in his mind, because no one would ever refer to anything of his as ‘beautiful.’ Not when he’s such a vile thing himself.

“You should sign it.”

A gentle nudge to his shoulder has him looking at Zen with a frown, taking the book back when he realizes that’s what Zen’s trying to do. “Sign it? Why would I do that?” He never signs his work. It's a waste when half the time he ends up throwing it away or destroying it in a fit. “I don’t usually let others see it, and even if I did, no one would want it. I’m not good enough.”

“I want it,” Zen answers immediately, an emotion Saeran can’t place swirling in his eyes. “If you wouldn’t mind me having it.”

His frown deepens. What the fuck. Is. This. Shit. Why in hell would Zen want this, this stupid picture he drew? This is a man who probably gets multitudes of portraits fans draw of him, so why would this shitty one of Saeran’s matter? 

Whatever.

Rolling his eyes, Saeran digs into his bag and pulls out a pen, scratching his name - first only - into the bottom corner before ripping the page out. He’s not going to fool himself into thinking it will end up anywhere but the garbage, but nonetheless he takes care not to mess up the edge of the paper. “Here.”

“Thank you. I’ll take good care of it, I promise.” Zen winks, holding it between his fingers as though it were something much more important than Saeran’s art.

“It’s not a big deal,” Saeran murmurs, ignoring the heat growing in his cheeks. “Can I go home now?”

"Yeah, of course." As soon as Zen stands he’s patting down his pants and back to try to shake off any dirt, still holding the drawing in his other hand. He hesitates a moment and then offers Saeran a hand. "Got to get you back before dark after all or else Seven'll kill me," he jokes with a laugh.

It’s only a hand but it feels like something else, something Saeran can’t quite wrap his mind around. He stares at it, chewing the inside of his lip, before hesitatingly accepting it to help pull him up. This is just another trick of his mind, trying to make things a bigger deal than they are. No, he won’t fall for it this time. Saeran slings his bag back over his shoulder after safely tucking his stuff back inside and quickly descends the ladder.

Dropping the last few steps to the ground, he stands off to the side to wait for Zen to join him. Eyes drawn upward, he takes in the beauty of the evening sky. A cloud rolls by lazily that resembles a small dog, causing the sides of his lips to curl minutely as he imagines it running across the sky. Barely visible through the buildings, the horizon catches his attention next: the sun won't set for a while yet but he misses the way the sky is painted shades of violet and pink when it does. He sighs, acutely aware of the longing in his heart to be free once more.

Heavy feet land gracefully behind him before Zen takes his place next to Saeran. “Something on your mind?”

“Yeah.” Saeran sighs again, gaze falling to the gray of the street beneath them. This, this is a familiar emotion winding its way through his mind and body: a deep, impenetrable sadness that threatens to drown him. “I miss the sunset.” _And everything that goes with it._ Coming out here was a mistake. Instead of helping him feel better, it only highlighted the shit that is his life. The back of his eyes begin to burn and he sniffs aggressively, rubbing at them with the back of his hand before trying to trace their steps back home. 

The way he sees it, he only has two options right now: to keep working on ‘getting better,’ focusing on whatever bullshit rehabilitation his therapist and brother think he needs so that he can regain the ability to go outside and be his own person again, or he could run. The latter sounds infinitely more appealing for obvious reasons - no brother, no therapist, no rules or prisons or anything to force him to stay alive. But even now, even when he’s out and only with Zen, it feels damn impossible. Saeyoung would use his and his buddy Jumin’s resources to track him down in no time, and then he’d be back at square one. 

No, actually, he’d probably be in the negatives.

Fuck this life and all that comes with it.

“Hey, uh, you still got…”

Saeran exhales hard and then shifts to see whatever Zen is trying to say, watching his hand move closer but not processing it until one of the clips is plucked right from his hair. The gentle tug of the strands triggers his default reaction to someone touching him and he jerks back so violently he stumbles, eyes wide and mouth curled into a snarl. “Don’t fucking touch me.” Each word is bitten out, ice cold, his body in full fight-or-flight mode in preparation for whatever attack is about to follow. 

“Woah!” Instead of attacking, Zen withdraws, rubbing his face, abashed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you like that.” He holds the pin back out to Saeran, almost like a peace offering. “You can keep these if you want. I’ve got bunches of ‘em lying around at my place.”

Shit, he overreacted again, didn’t he. Of course Zen wasn’t trying to lash out, he was trying to… well, just be a normal fucking human being, probably. Never a good idea around Saeran. God, he’s such a mess. He forces himself to close his eyes and breathe deeply, trying to chase away the vestiges of the defense mechanism he didn’t need to use. “No, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, unclipping the other two pins and dropping them into Zen’s extended hand. “Shouldn’t’ve growled at you like that.” Waving the hand away, Saeran resumes walking, brushing his fingers through the released hair. “I should probably just let idiot cut my hair, yeah?”

Zen pockets the pins. “You don’t seem very thrilled about that.”

An ugly snort is Saeran’s response. “Would you be?” The idea of his brother cutting _anyone’s_ hair sounds like a bad time. “I’m used to doing it myself, but I’m so sick of having to depend on him to do this type of shit. Stupid little things like cutting or bleaching my hair. He won’t let me do it. Figured I’d just let it grow then but it’s pissing me off now. Maybe I should, I dunno, just start wearing it in pigtails?” he deadpans, fully aware of how uncomfortable Zen gets whenever Saeyoung mentions his crossdressing. Sometimes it’s just fun to fuck with people, yeah?

To his surprise, Zen bursts into delighted laughter. “Pigtails, huh? Cute. You could join the long-haired club with me.”

 _Cute?_ Unexpected. “Can you imagine me with your hair?” Snickering, Saeran shakes his head. “No, I like it the way I had it. Maybe if I ask, he’ll take me somewhere to have someone else cut and bleach it for me.” He’s pretty sure his brother has never set foot in a salon, and Saeran certainly hasn’t, but it would be better than the alternative.

“Someone else, huh.” Zen pauses, tapping his chin in thought. “I could. Well, the cutting part anyway. I haven’t bleached any hair before in my life.”

Now that’s a thought. Zen cutting his hair. “Well,” he starts slowly, turning to look at him. “I don’t think I’d mind it, if you’ve cut hair before.” Honestly it mostly boils down to him not wanting Saeyoung to do it. Call it a childish rebellion if you want, an attempt to seize control over the one thing he can in his god-forsaken life, but he has no interest in letting his brother anywhere near his hair. Saeran narrows his eyes, taking in Zen's hair. "I'm surprised you've never bleached your hair before," he jokes dryly.

Zen snorts. "Shocking right? But if it got much lighter than this it might be blinding and we don't want that, do we?" As is his style, Zen tosses his head to flip his hair dramatically. "But yeah, I did my own hair for years. Didn't have any money for a long time."

“...okay, if you’re sure.” Exhaustion is settling deep into his bones, every step starting to feel like he’s slogging through thick mud. It’s a good thing they’re approaching the bunker, even if he doesn’t really want to return. So much time away from people, spent alone and, for a while, in withdrawal has cut back his social batteries majorly, huh. What an absolutely _fantastic_ reward he gets for all of his hard work. 

The earlier anxiety attack certainly didn’t help, nor the repeated times he lashed out at Zen. He doesn’t know what he wants more right now: to collapse on his bed and sleep for the next decade or two, or to drag out the time he’s outside. Funny how what is usually an easy decision can become tough when one’s mental health doesn’t cooperate. But regardless, there’s only one reason he was able to venture out here at all. "Hey Zen... thank you."

The smile Zen levels at his is brighter and by far the most genuine one Saeran’s ever seen grace his face. "No problem. I had a good time. You can hit me up whenever, alright? I mean it."

How. How is he supposed to respond to that? This is unprecedented kindness and acceptance, he’s only ever known lies and hatred. "...okay." Saeran drops his eyes back to the ground, feeling vastly overwhelmed. His mind still can’t understand why Zen is being so kind to him, but honestly? It's...nice. Something he might actually enjoy doing again.  
  
Before much longer they stand before the door of the bunker, the security system so quiet it's eerie. Of course Saeyoung is still pouting about it. Rolling his eyes, Saeran shuffles forward, raising his head to stare directly into the camera.

"Let us in, idiot," he says humorlessly, staring at the lens blankly. A click and the door pops open to his home, but all Saeran sees is a jail door. One about to be locked behind him, allowing him to see through the bars but not feel the joy on the other side. He grabs the handle and dares to offer Zen the smallest of smiles before pulling it open and entering the dark hallway.

Saeyoung stands there, hands shoved in the pockets of his silly black-and-yellow hoodie, mouth opening to say something. “None of your business,” Saeran grumbles, waving him off and stepping around him. He pauses before disappearing in the direction of his room. “I’m here, I’m fine, don’t bother him, yeah?” It’s a moot gesture, he knows, because whatever speech Saeyoung has in store for Zen won’t be cancelled just because he asked, but at least he tried. 

There’s a lot to unpack for him, a fact that’s very obvious as he draws further from the entryway and the voices there become quieter. Unfamiliar feelings are taking residence in his chest and his mind is moving so fast it's hard to grasp a single thought, but Saeran doesn’t have the energy to deal with either right now. Kicking off his shoes and peeling the scratchy sweater over his head, he flops onto the bed, grabbing his blanket to cover him.

Tonight, he sleeps. Maybe tomorrow he’ll be courageous enough to poke at the warmth surrounding his blackened heart.

* * *

1 “A gift,” he’d claimed as he dropped the drawstring bag onto Saeran’s bed after figuring out he wasn’t going to take it from him. “From when I was in the United States. That’s a college sports team, one my roommate at the time was a fan of. I had him get one for you so that one day I might be able to pass it on.” Saeran didn’t care, and only used it when left with no alternative.[return to text]

2 The more grandiose the gesture, the more stressed or worried Saeyoung is. [return to text]

3 All in the name of avoiding it in the future, of course. Not that Saeran believes that lie for one moment. [return to text]

4 Well, not necessarily his only chance. Saeyoung would probably bring him out if he asked, but that wouldn’t be any help. [return to text]


End file.
